


The Tipping Point

by sidewinder



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Drunken Confessions, Episode Related, Episode s02e18: Manhunt, First Kiss, First Time Blow Jobs, M/M, kiss meme
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-08
Updated: 2016-03-08
Packaged: 2018-05-25 13:40:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6197191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidewinder/pseuds/sidewinder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's feeling a little tipsy. Fin's well on his way to fully sauced. Mix with a shared hotel room and, well, something is bound to happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tipping Point

**Author's Note:**

> Written for theorajones, for the Tumblr [kiss meme](http://hawkland.tumblr.com/post/140030044043/another-kiss-meme), because she requested "Tipsy Kiss". Somehow it got a lot more complicated than that, as I've long wanted to do a something-happened-on-that-road-trip-to-Canada story.
> 
> This story is not currently connected to any of my other Munch/Fin fics but will be in the same universe of another I'm currently co-writing. Characters are property of NBC/Dick Wolf. This story was written purely for fun and not for profit.

John Munch wasn’t drunk.

A little tipsy? Most definitely. Maybe even more than a little. But full-on drunk? No. Not him, not tonight.

Because as much as he’d would have dearly loved to get completely shit-faced after this past week, tomorrow he’d be riding back from Toronto to New York with his partner behind the wheel. He didn’t need to add a massive hangover to the motion sickness with which Fin’s driving would surely afflict him on that ride.

So he’d kept to a slow pace as he and Fin had enjoyed dinner with Alex at their hotel, trying to share in her confidence she’d win the extradition hearing in the morning. John did _not_ want to head home tomorrow without Darryl Kern in shackles and in the back seat of their car, beginning his deserved journey to a cell on death row. And John had nursed only one or...well, maybe _two_ more drinks slowly at the bar afterward with Fin, who had appeared far more intent on achieving complete inebriated status.

That had seemed unusual in John’s experience; Fin rarely had more than a single drink when the gang at the 16th went out for a nightcap and he didn’t think he’d ever seen the man actually get drunk. Yet tonight he’d been hitting the hard stuff and hitting it hard, and John could only wonder what precisely had brought that on. Perhaps this case was beginning to haunt Fin as badly as it had haunted John for the past year. He couldn’t blame Fin if that was the cause. While Fin had started out a chatty, happy drunk, as the evening had worn down he became more quiet and pensive, letting his darker thoughts and moodiness creep out.

_“You think Alex is going to win this one?” Fin had asked, staring down into the bottom of his almost-drained tumbler of whiskey._

_“Honestly? I don’t know. It’s not like we have any idea what this judge is like and how to expect him to rule. But I certainly hope she does. That son of a bitch deserves a needle in his arm and I want to be there to see it happen.”_

_“I hear you, man. I do, too. Don’t think I’ve ever seen...I mean, and I’ve seen plenty of things, you know? When I was in the Rangers, and then Narcotics... Drug lords can do some nasty shit to their enemies, but...”_

_“...It’s a whole other level of depravity with serial killers like Kern,” John had said with understanding. “They’re not killing for any reason other than their own pleasure and sick satisfaction. It’s not about revenge, or covering up some other crime, or even fighting for a so-called ‘righteous cause’. Kern’s victims...they weren’t even real people to him. Just meat. Nothing but props for his entertainment.”_

_“Yeah.” Fin had fallen quiet, draining the last of his glass before asking, “Does it get easier?”_

_“What’s that?”_

_“Dealing with cases like this one.”_

_“Not really. In fact if it ever starts getting easy for you, that’s when you want to worry.”_

Fin had gone for one more round after that while John stuck to club soda before closing out their tab. And then John had provided navigational support for his partner out of the bar and to the elevator, up to their room, Fin’s breath hot against his shoulder and John trying not to think about that too closely.

Because thinking about it made him think about other things he normally chose to ignore, or push aside as preposterous. Not worth even pondering. Not even worth letting such thoughts cross his mind, because Fin was his partner and nothing more.

Except being a little tipsy made it harder to keep those thoughts away.

Now John lay stretched out on his bed in their shared hotel room, still fully dressed save his jacket, shoes and tie. He’d given Fin first dibs on the bathroom, in case he needed to spend some private time praying to the porcelain god. But there’d been no sounds of upheaval, nor noise of the shower running, only the toilet flushing some minutes ago and the sink running briefly.

“You alive in there?” John called out, wondering if Fin might have passed out on the tile floor and be in need of rescue.

“’m fine, don’t you worry about me.”

“Who said anything about worrying?” John muttered under his breath. He went back to reading the book he’d brought with him for the road to try to unwind, divert his thoughts from the case which he could do nothing more to close now; it was all in Alex’s hands. It was an old mystery by John D. MacDonald, one that had nothing whatsoever to do with women being kidnapped, sexually assaulted and tortured before being killed. That’s why he found it refreshing to read; a well-written mystery could distract him from the real life one that had become too personally frustrating—and horrifying—to him.

Travis McGee was about to set off on another adventure on _The Busted Flush_ when Fin finally emerged from the bathroom. Dressed in his bedtime attire, headscarf covering his long hair, he looked relaxed and a little steadier on his feet than before...though not necessarily by much.

“You should drink some water, take an aspirin before bed,” John urged him.

“Yes, mother.”

“Fine. Then don’t complain to me about your hangover tomorrow.”

“I don’t get hangovers.”

“Maybe not usually, but you don’t usually put away half a bar shelf in one evening, either.”

Fin ignored him. “Least this room’s nicer than the last one we had to share,” he said, walking toward the window and peeking out the heavy curtains John had drawn closed to keep out the city lights. “You check out the view? Never been to this city before.”

“Neither have I. Doesn’t seem like we’ll be seeing much more of it than that scenic view, either,” John said. He’d claimed the bed closer to the window, and it was with some surprise that he soon found Fin flopped down next to him _on_ said bed, stretching out beside him with a loud yawn.

“And what do you think you're doing?” John asked.

“Lying down.”

“On my bed.”

“Is it? All right,” Fin mumbled, and made no effort to move.

John wondered if he should get up and move to the other bed himself if Fin couldn’t manage walking the distance again. He did still have to clean up and get ready for sleep. But, in all honesty, he didn’t actually mind having Fin beside him, close like this. Sleeping next to him...well, there would be those thoughts he tried so hard to keep out of his brain again. “If you puke on my bed you are sleeping in the bathtub the rest of the night.”

“You’re cute when you get all pissy.”

John blinked, wondering if he’d heard Fin properly. “Excuse me?”

Fin rolled over, onto his stomach, so he could look at John with a goofy grin, a slightly unfocused look in his eyes. His shift on the bed brought him extremely close to John, such that their bodies were practically touching. “I _said_ , you’re cute when you get all pissy like you are now.”

“You’ve had _way_ too much to drink tonight, my friend.”

“Naw. Think I’ve had enough to say a few things...maybe do a few things that’ve been on my mind for a while.” Fin kept looking at him, drunkenly, expectantly, and John felt like he should look away. _Get_ away. Stop this before it went any further. But something in the way Fin was looking at him kept him right where he was, made him realize that maybe those thoughts he’d been working so hard to not think about, to put aside, perhaps weren’t so off-base after all.

Fin reached toward his face and John caught his breath. Fin took hold of John’s glasses, plucking them off his nose and placing them on the nightstand on his side of the bed. All the while Fin’s gaze never wavered, though his smile softened, becoming more wistful. John’s anxiousness intensified; his vision wasn’t so bad without correction that couldn’t still see Fin clearly before him, but he always felt uncomfortably...well... _naked_ , without his glasses to provide that extra clarity—and a certain sense of protection.

“Fin,” he said in a quiet voice, dropping his book to his side, “what’s this all about?”

“Wanted to get a good look. See if...what I think is there, sometimes, is really there. When you ain’t hiding behind those things. You have amazing eyes, you know that? I noticed that about you right away. First time I saw you.”

“You mean before I dazzled you with my sparkling conversational wit?”

“And that smart ass attitude. But these days I see how much you’re full of shit with that. It’s a cover. Your way of keeping people from getting too close to close to you, like I’ve got mine. See, we’re not so different. I thought we were at first. Thought I could never get along with you. Then I didn’t _want_ to get along with you. ’Cause I didn’t want to feel....” Fin trailed off, stopping himself before taking his admissions one step further.

“Feel what?” John wasn’t quite sure where this was going, but a drunken Fin revealing the secrets he normally held so tight to his chest was curious and rare. And John was loose enough at that moment himself to want to see where this could be leading.

Fin didn’t answer, in fact he shook his head and dropped it to the mattress with a groan. For a moment John thought he had passed out, which wouldn’t be too surprising but would be a hell of a disappointment at this point. John reached out, hesitantly, putting his hand on Fin’s back—either to offer reassurance or determine if he had in fact fallen unconscious.

Fin looked back up at him, at that touch.

“Whatever it is, tell me,” John urged. “Show me.”

The moment seemed to stretch on into infinity in the silence of the hotel room, the only sounds the rattling of the noisy heater, the muted blur of nighttime traffic outside. But neither man flinched, neither turned away in rejection of taking the next step. Fin finally made that inevitable move closer, shifting up the bed slightly until they were lying side by side, face to face. John's hand on Fin’s back drew him even nearer until their lips met, tentative, barely touching. Awkward, in that way first kisses almost always were, two individuals uncertainly trying to see if and how they fit together—who would lead, who would yield.

John’s eyes had drifted close at that first press of Fin’s lips, senses focusing only on that touch, the impression of him, softness and warmth yet the scent, the feeling of his body  so very distinctly masculine. He wanted more, and opening his eyes to meet Fin’s again he could see those desires reflected right back at him.

Fin claimed a second kiss from him, and then a third with more insistence, the brush of his tongue over John’s lips. A small moan escaped John's throat at that, and his lips parted to allow Fin to explore his mouth with that eager tongue. Fin reached for the back of John’s head to hold him there, close, those fingers in his hair leaving his scalp tingling.

Fin’s mouth tasted so strongly of alcohol John swore he could get drunk from his kisses alone. Or maybe he was growing lightheaded from his disbelief that this was really happening, after months of building curiosity and wishful thinking. He’d wondered if Fin weren’t entirely straight, or if he’d simply given up on relationships entirely as John had given how little interest he expressed in dating in their conversations. It had been a long time since John had found himself fancying a man the way he did Fin, with his quiet seriousness, his ability to challenge John yet make him feel respected—and safe—at the same time.

John knew, rationally, logically, that they probably shouldn’t be doing this. Not now, maybe not ever. They were partners. They were stressed out from a horrible case. Fin was drunk and John wasn’t too far behind him. They’d surely regret this in the morning. Wouldn’t they?

But it was hard to think about regret when Fin was sucking on his bottom lip and grasping at him like a man clutching for a life raft on a sinking ship. When he wanted to lose himself in this closeness, the pure physical pleasure of kissing, touching, being with another after such a long period of self-imposed denial. Of thinking he was done with all of this, of wanting to be with another, of opening his heart enough to possibly be hurt one more time.

Fin lightened up, finally, pausing for breath they both seemed to need desperately. He nuzzled his lips against John’s until both were laughing, softly, from the ticklish touch. Fin’s eyes met John’s again, this time with a look of lust and longing that made John’s chest ache. “I could kiss you like this all night,” Fin said.

“Be my guest.”

“I want to do more to you.” Fin’s lips traced a path to John’s ear, and his breath was hot and heavy as he promised, “I want to make you come.”

The sound of Fin’s voice speaking those words was nearly enough to do the trick. “I won’t say no.”

“I want to suck you off.” Fin ran one hand down John’s body, below his waist, and from his murmurs of appreciation Fin seemed pleased with what he found there. John had no complaints, either, save he would prefer that hand on his bare flesh instead of through two layers of clothing. “You don’t know how bad I want it.”

Hell, Fin could moonlight as a phone sex operator the way he could turn a man on when he talked like that. But right now John needed action, not merely words. “So show me and stop being a fucking tease.”

“I’ll get there, don’t worry.” Fin silenced John with another kiss, his tongue probing, tasting, thrusting against John’s own. They kept at these deep, sloppy kisses, wet and positively pornographic, as Fin’s hands focused on John’s waist, fumbling with his belt and then the zipper of his pants. John happily let Fin do all the work, loving the frantic nature of his touches, his kisses...it was a thrill to feel so wanted, so desired.

Fin eventually sat up so he could tug down John’s pants, tossing them off the bed, and then did the same with his underwear. John felt a flush come over his face, heating his skin, at the way Fin looked down at him now with such hunger.

“Knew I wanted some of that.” Fin pushed up John’s dress shirt and tank top, hands rubbing his stomach, teasing and inching closer to his quickly swelling cock. John squirmed, aching to be touched, there, to feel those hands grasping him, stroking him, but then Fin did something even better. He got between John’s legs and crouched down, dipping his head to lick at his cock in a long, loving stroke.

John groaned and Fin echoed him with a sigh of approval. He repeated the action with another slow, long lick, base to tip, ending with a few extra flicks of the tongue over the sensitive head. John whimpered and struggled to hold still, wanting more but enjoying the slow torment at the same time.

Fin kept licking and kissing his cock until he was so hard he could barely stand it, anticipating each stroke of his wet tongue, the press of his lips, each touch agonizing and wonderful at the same time. And then John gasped as Fin suddenly swallowed him down, taking him deep with a confidence and ease that made it clear that oh yes, he had done this before. God _damn_ , he knew what he was doing, and John wanted him to keep doing it. To not stop doing it until he couldn’t take it any longer, until he passed out from how good this felt because he could already see stars in front of his eyes.

He could feel the inevitable climax building quickly, too fast when it was so good, and he tried to think of anything to distract him, slow it down, keep the pleasure building. But Fin had little mercy for him, taking only the briefest pauses to kiss and nibble at his thighs, small nips that did momentarily bring John down from the edge, until he started sucking him hard again.

“Fuck...I’m gonna...” John started to warn, in case Fin wanted to pull away. But Fin only sucked him deeper, swallowing him to the back of his throat and that was it, no turning back now. John came with a loud cry of relief, grasping at Fin’s shoulders, arching up against him. Fin released him eventually but continued licking at his cock, rubbing his stomach affectionately, making soft sounds of satisfaction as he did.

“Like that?” Fin finally asked.

“You even...mmm...have to ask?”

“Just makin’ sure. Got what I wanted...for now.” Fin shifted to lay his head against John’s stomach, seeming content to simply rest against him and cuddle for a time. John needed a few minutes to come down himself, recover his bearings, his thoughts, his center of being thanks to the way Fin had worked him over.

After a few minutes of wallowing in the pleasant afterglow, John was ready to see if Fin couldn’t use a little reciprocal oral gratification—or if he even had something else in mind.

“Fin?” he said, but his only answer was a soft snoring. _I'll be damned,_ he thought. _Mo_ _st men nod off after getting a blow-job, not giving one. Figures Fin has to be the exception._ John laughed softly to himself at the absurdity of how he found himself: half-naked in a Canadian hotel room with Fin lying possessively across his body, tipsy from too much alcohol and more than a little dazed from one hell of an orgasm.

He supposed he could skip his normal pre-bedtime rituals for one night as he didn’t want to disturb Fin. Tomorrow morning there would be enough mess to clean up, enough consequences to face and he didn't want to dwell on that in this moment. He turned off the light over the bed and then reached down for Fin, where he lay asleep, hopeful only that harsh light of morning—and sobriety—would be as kind as possible to them both.

* * *

John awoke gradually the next day, not to the startling noise of an alarm but instead the muted light of morning seeping in through an opening in the curtains. He stretched out lazily, feeling about for Fin and disappointingly, but not too unsurprisingly, finding himself alone in bed. He heard the shower running in the bathroom and glanced at the clock: it was just past six am, well before he’d set the alarm to go off.

He sighed and calculated mental odds on how the conversation they needed to have would go. Knowing Fin, at least as well as he’d gotten to know him up until last night, John had a feeling it wouldn’t go well at all. He waited until the shower had stopped and he’d given Fin some time in the bathroom to himself—and he’d thought about how best to approach the situation. Eventually he got out of bed, retrieving his boxer shorts from the floor before cautiously approaching the bathroom door. It was open, slightly, to let the steam escape while Fin shaved over the sink.

He stood there naked save a towel wrapped around his waist. John watched through that partly open door, silent until Fin was toweling dry his face. He knocked softly so as not to startle him and casually asked, “Woke up early?”

“Yeah.”

“How’s your head?”

“I’ll survive, though I could use that aspirin you offered last night.”

“I’ve got some in my bag, I’ll get one for you. Maybe two.”

“Thanks.”

Fin was pointedly not looking toward him, instead staring down at his toiletries on the sink, rearranging them for no particular reason. John stepped inside the small room and leaned against the wall, waiting. “Sorry ’bout last night,” Fin said after a long pause.

“Sorry for what?”

“You don’t remember?” Fin sounded almost hopeful.

“Oh, I remember. But I don’t remember anything that I’m in any rush to forget. Fin...”

“John, don’t. Don’t try to make this okay. I got drunk, I got stupid, I fucked up. Like I fucked up my marriage, 'cause I never should have tried to be something I’m not.”

“You mean, straight.”

“Yeah. I’m gay.”

“So what? In case you couldn’t tell last night, despite four marriages I’m not exactly the poster child of unwavering heterosexuality myself.”

“Don’t matter. I shouldn’t have...you're my partner. It’s not appropriate how I acted.”

“It takes two to do the horizontal mambo.”

“For once could you not turn everything into a fucking joke, John?”

“Sorry.”

“Whatever. When we get back to New York I’ll see about putting in for a transfer.”

“You’re going to do no such thing, dammit. And will you look at me?” Fin cautiously turned to meet his gaze and John hoped he could see the truth in his eyes, hear it in the words he was about to say. “I like you. As a partner, as the friend you’ve come to be. I’ve wondered if there was something else possible between us, and last night proved I could be right. I haven’t felt...it’s been a long time since someone’s looked at me, or touched me the way that you did.”

Fin glanced away again, briefly, embarrassment flashing across his face for a moment until John reached out to touch his bare shoulder. He waited for Fin to meet his eyes again and then continued, “I don’t want to lose another partner when I thought I’d finally found someone who was going to stick around. If you want to forget about last night...I can do that, if that’s what it takes for you to stay. But honestly? I’d rather...see what might happen next.”

“You would.”

“Yeah.”

John stepped in a little closer, cautious as Fin still looked doubtful. He reached up to touch Fin’s cheek, smooth and warm where he’d shaved, his thumb caressing the corner of his mouth. “You were right, what you said last night about us not being that different. We might disagree a lot, we may come from different points of view on nearly everything, but that’s not what really matters, is it? In fact I think it’s what keeps things interesting between us.”

“John...” Fin spoke his name, almost sighed it in acceptance and John took that as permission to go for a kiss, to take the lead this time as _he_ desired. He wanted to prove that everything was good between them, that this was good.

Fuck, it felt more than good to have his hands on Fin’s bare skin, something he hadn’t had the chance to experience the night before. And it felt wonderful to kiss him with a clear head, without the haze of alcohol clouding the experience. Fin’s hesitation melted quickly under his touch and as the kiss lingered, desire warming to a cautious, slow burn, tender instead of demanding and reckless as they’d been the night before.

John pulled back after a time, smiling at the look of relief he saw in Fin’s eyes. “So we’re okay?”

“Still feel like shit right now, but you ‘n me? We’re okay. Could be tricky at work, though.”

“We’ll simply have to be discreet. Think you can handle that?”

“Think you can keep your big mouth shut?”

“There are easy ways to silence me.” John illustrated his point by going for another kiss, and damn if he didn’t wish they could spend the entire day here in this hotel room, ignoring everything and everybody else. But, he’d take a few hours of luxurious indulgence if that was all they had. “You know, the hearing’s not until ten this morning. How about I order up some breakfast...in bed...and I might know a few tricks that could help clear up that hangover of yours. Or at least make you forget about it for a while.”

“Mmm...sounds good to me.”

“Me too.” John kissed him again, hands slipping beneath the towel tucked loosely around Fin’s waist, letting it then slip unceremoniously to the ground. “Get that ass back in bed. First things first, we’re evening the score.”


End file.
